Thursday, April 17, 2014

As Funkiberry frozen yogurt (yes, another one) prepares to move into the corner spot at Third Avenue and 12th Street, the old sign has been stripped a few times. AAA Amici pizza ("rent-hiked out of there") was removed to reveal Laurence & Paul's Pizza. That, in turn, was just removed to reveal Luigi's 3rd Ave. Pizza.

Reader Sean caught the sign just as it was being destroyed. He sends in these photos and notes that the sign likely dates to the 1970s or 80s. (Does anyone remember Luigi's?)

Sean says, "I pulled an 'A' of the sign out of the trash. Thin aluminum sign front and thin plastic infill. Definitely not that old, but old enough to be cool. I will donate these artifacts to the right person."

Who is scarfing down all this frozen yogurt? Given how slender most New Yorkers are, and how barely economical the fro-yo is, am I missing some hidden or ghostly tranche of people whose cuisine consists only of this stuff? Hasn't NYC, even with 8+ million people, reached fro-yo saturation? Also, given how pricey rents are these days, are these fro-yo outlets selling enough product to maintain their leases?

I've lived in New York City my whole life, except for two years in Los Angeles (2000-02) that I refer to as "The Exile."

I was so happy every time I came back to visit New York from L.A. I could feel the energy from all of the people swirling around me on the street. On one of those trips home, I went straight from the airport to hang out with some friends on the Lower East Side.

After drinks, around 2 a.m., I remember driving up Third Avenue in a cab and seeing that pizza place. I thought, "Man I need some New York pizza right now." I asked the driver if he would stop so I could get a slice -- which he did -- and I got him a slice too, grateful that he would wait for me.

F--k you, Funkiberry, and the hyper-gentrification wave you rode in on.